


Fifth-year fantasies

by Shadowhuntercat



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Baz Pitch deserves nice things, I wrote this ages ago, Kinda Dark, M/M, Why do I torture characters I love?, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 21:44:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11067735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowhuntercat/pseuds/Shadowhuntercat





	Fifth-year fantasies

The sword of Mages was the sort of weapon that made enemies run screaming and armies tremble in fear. It was nothing special to look at, but it radiated power in a way that made anyone who looked at it suddenly aware of all of the blood it had spilled. Even when wielded by someone like Simon Snow, who could barely lift it as a first year (something Baz teased him relentlessly about - "Do you need a crane for that, Snow? Or someone to carry it for you?). By his fourth year, however, Baz could see why everyone thought Simon was the Chosen One (sour cherry scone addiction aside) - he was as deadly as the sword; his anger struck as much, or even more, fear into enemies' hearts. Baz had seen Simon Snow's rage and felt the searing heat of his magic for hours after. Simon Snow was was like fire: dangerous and beautiful and something Baz should not be messing with. If Simon Snow was fire, Baz was going to burn.

As soon as he looked into Simon's bright blue eyes on the Great Lawn with the Crucible pulling him forward, he knew he was going to die. This was the Heir of Mages, the Chosen One, the boy he was supposed to defeat in the war, according to Aunt Fiona. His enemy. His nemesis.  
His roommate.  
Snow smiled at him, still so amazingly innocent and blind to Baz's inner turmoil. It was so beautiful, so bright. Baz couldn't kill Simon Snow. He would have to die instead.

The next few years were hell. As much as Baz pushed the thoughts back, Simon was always there, in the back of his mind. His bright eyes, the freckles and moles on his skin, his bronze curls. Fiona insisted Baz at least try to get rid of him, hence the Chimera and other half-formed, doomed to fail plans. Maybe killing Snow would make it easier, he often thought. He could make his family proud and get rid of the horrible fluttering feeling in his stomach every time Simon looked at him.   
It took far too long for the realisation to set in. Baz was in love with the boy that would end him. Wasn't that ironic?

By his fifth year, Baz had given up. He knew he was just as much a weapon as Simon Snow; he knew he was a monster; he knew love would be his downfall. His purpose was to destroy Snow, and he couldn't even do that. He was a monster and monsters didn't love. He was in love and lovers didn't kill.  
Baz couldn't even get one thing right: kill the Mage's Heir. He was so broken he couldn't do anything. Loving Simon Snow would destroy his family. Killing Simon Snow would destroy him ('and one will come to end us, and one will bring his fall' - the only fall Simon seemed to be bringing was Baz's).   
That year, Baz finally let the maddening, forbidden thoughts into his head.   
Kissing Simon.   
Biting Simon.   
Finally being free from everything when Snow eventually ended him.

(Those were my fifth-year fantasies: kisses and blood and Snow ridding the world of me.)


End file.
